Stage Fright
by Mirror-of-Roses
Summary: Tomorrow is Weiss's last concert before attending Beacon Academy. When she dreams that night, a certain Frenchman gives her one last word of advice before she sings her heart out.


Weiss's big concert was tomorrow, and it was giving her the jitters. She'd been freaking out for most of the day and that made falling asleep difficult, but when she did, she had a pleasant dream.

* * *

The white-haired girl stood on the balcony of a tall tower, leaning her elbows on the railing with her head propped up by her hands. She stared at the beautiful city lights stretched out before her in all directions. It was nighttime, which highlighted the city's beauty.

"This is nice," Weiss commented quietly, a small smile on her face.

"Of course," a male voice said from behind her. "If it wasn't, we wouldn't be getting that many tourists."

Weiss blinked in surprise before half-turning around. Sitting in a chair at a small table was a man with kind blue eyes. His blond hair fell in waves reaching his shoulders and a glass of wine at his fingertips.

"What are you doing out on this fine night, _ma chèrie_?" He asked.

"Clearing my mind." Weiss sighed. "I have a huge concert tomorrow."

"Oh, you sing?" He took a sip of his wine.

"Yeah, and it's my last one before I go to combat school." Weiss nodded.

The man nearly spat out his drink. " _Combat_ school? I've never heard of such a thing. Does that exist?"

"You've never heard of Beacon?" Weiss asked incredulously.

" _Non_ , I have not." He abandoned his wine to stand next to Weiss. "Where are you from?"

"Atlas, which is obviously not nearby." Weiss held out her hand for a shake. "I'm Weiss Schnee."

"France." France gently took her hand and kissed the back of it.

Weiss blushed, but brushed it off. "No last name?"

"I don't need one. I _am_ the country we're in, after all." The Frenchman laughed, making a pleasant "honhonhon" sound.

Weiss slowly pulled her hand away from him. "You're... what?"

"I'm a country. The personification, at least." France smiled. "I'm glad I am, too. France is such a beautiful place, full of art and love. I wouldn't have it any other way." He turned his head to stare at his capital city wistfully.

"So you're an artistic person," Weiss said.

"Of course! I am France, after all. Art is everywhere here: beautiful music, paintings, food, plays, people... I can't be any happier being anyone else. In fact, I can sing too! I also have a knack for acting."

"I only sing, really." Weiss followed his gaze, staring at the scenery with him. "But if you're a country, how long have you been around for?"

"Centuries, and I hope there will be even more to come." France sighed happily.

"So that makes you immortal."

"Pretty much."

"Don't you get sad thinking about it?" Weiss asked, eyebrow raised. "You think of all the people you've seen and met over time and realize that most of them are long gone. You stay alive, happy as ever, and these people keep passing on before your eyes. How are you not insane?"

France grasped her shoulders and turned her so they faced each other. " _Ma chèrie,_ when you see a country like mine grow and become more and more beautiful every day for hundreds of years, it doesn't seem to matter. Besides, there are plenty of other countries like me, living for centuries. I'm not lonely or anything at all. It's actually really fun. I've even been a pirate with my own ship! For me, it's not a curse, but a blessing. Now, let's hear you sing!"

After the unload of information and the subject change, all Weiss could do was stare.

"Come on, just a few notes!"

"U-um, okay." Weiss closed her eyes and sang a some notes for him.

"Very good." France nodded in approval. "But why aren't your eyes open? You can't see your lovely audience!"

Weiss's head lowered. "I'm just a bit... afraid of crowds."

"I'm only one person."

"That's not the point!" She exclaimed, annoyed. "I don't like people staring at me while I sing."

"Well, we're going to change that, now aren't we?" France chuckled.

"You can't make me like something." Weiss puffed out her cheeks. "I do what I'm comfortable with."

"Come on, please. Just get out of that comfort zone of yours," France said. "It's not scary, I promise. Now try it out. Sing with your eyes wide open!"

Weiss gulped before doing just that. Sure, she grimaced a bit, but she did it.

"Much better, Weiss!" France clapped his hands. "Keep practicing and you'll be perfect."

"Thanks." Weiss smiled a little, looking back at the city lights. "You know, I'd love to come back and explore your country. I'm sure I can't, though."

"Nonsense." France waved a dismissive hand. "You're here now, aren't you? If you do come back, I'll be sure to give you a grand Tour de France!"

Weiss nodded. "What's this tower called?"

"The Eiffel Tower."

"Good. That's a name I'll never forget, France."

* * *

That morning, Weiss practiced singing with her eyes open for hours on end. That hard work paid off when she sang that way at the concert effortlessly.

 _"Thank you, France_."


End file.
